


Awaiting Dr. Whittaker

by Kittywitch



Series: A Society of Academics [5]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittywitch/pseuds/Kittywitch
Summary: The Society of Academics meets in order to welcome its newest member into their midst, but they're in for a surprise.Most of this fic is the Doctors roasting each other.





	Awaiting Dr. Whittaker

 

 

Despite the warm fire roaring in the grate, the close quarters and soft golden lighting, the cups of tea and brandy being refilled frequently, and the deep leather armchairs, the mood in the clubroom was not comfortable. Each of the people in it looked tense, in their own ways. Many of them checked their pocket-watches frequently, or nervously stood up from their conversations to cross to another part of the room without warning their conversation partner. If they were not members of the same club, these men would never have occupied the same room at once. While the room was without a doubt quite large enough to hold at least thirty people, it seemed unable to fully contain these particular twelve men. The Society of Academics rarely met, and when they did it was rarer still for less than six of them to send a polite note conveying their regret that a terrible important matter had very suddenly come up or simply not show up at all.

But tonight was an important night.

Dr. McCoy had challenged most of them to a game of chess at least once already, but only Dr. Hartnell, Dr. Smith, and Dr. Davison, had obliged. And even now Dr. Davison was clearly regretting his inability to decline politely faster than McCoy could wheel him into a chair.

The Baker brothers were on opposite sides of the room, each having chosen to pretend the other did not exist, thus managing to avoid all but two heated arguments. At the moment, the younger brother was sat in front of the fireplace, leaning dramatically on the arm of his chair so that all of the room would be able to see his golden curls backlit by the fire and know that despite the ongoing soliloquy he was delivering to the fire, he was ignoring them. Like a cat, he was making a show of ignoring everyone.

 

“This will make our number thirteen.” said Dr. Troughton, thumbing through his cards with evident lack of enthusiasm for his hand.

“Our number _is_ thirteen.” Dr. McGann corrected.

“I thought we had agreed not to speak his name in these walls.” said Dr. Smith darkly.

“And who, may I ask said his name?” asked Dr. Capaldi crossly. “We’re simply playing cards. Now play your card before I have to Hurt you.” The youngest member of the club shot a cold look at the eldest, who did not meet his eye but suddenly appeared to be much more amused by his hand than he had on his own turn.

 

 

“I see that you failed, yet again, to dress for the occasion.” Dr. Pertwee sighed, pouring himself another goblet of wine.

“Oh, leave the man alone!” Dr. Troughton tutted, thumbing through his cards.

“It’s alright, Troughton.” said Eccelston. “Besides, Pertwee has dressed quite enough for the lot of us. I wouldn’t want to add a single button to the mix or the whole building would collapse under us.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed you seem eager to prevent that occurrence.” said Dr. Pertwee, raising a thick white eyebrow. “I’ve known you were a member of the Society for ages, but I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you off the campus.”

“It may surprise you now, Dr. Pertwee, that despite how few classes I am teaching this semester, they are all very crowded and need a great deal of attention. And more to the point…” Dr. Eccelston refilled his glass and stood. “I don’t feel the need to visit the club on a nightly basis. Gentlemen.” Smiling, the man in the leather jacket strode away.

“You didn’t need to be so rude to him.” Dr. Troughton frowned.

“And you, sir, do not need to inject yourself into other’s private conversations!” retorted Dr. Pertwee. “Particularly when you are otherwise occupied! Perhaps if you were paying one jot of attention to your game, you would have played that jack by now!”

Troughton snapped, “ _Jon!_ ” The other members of the game groaned, except for Dr. McGann, who had become distracted from the game by comparing his pocketwatch to the grandfather clock.

 

 

“So chaps… what do you know of this Dr. Whittaker?” asked Dr. Baker in his deep booming voice, “I’ll admit I’ve not heard his name before today.”

“We can’t all be international figures, Dr. Baker.” said Dr. Tennant with a grin. “Why, in this club only you and I have truly managed it.”

“You’re almost as fond of your own voice as my brother.” Dr. Baker replied dismissively, ignoring the fact he was just as likely to say the same about him.

“I’ve never met the man,” said Dr. Capaldi, “But I’ve read his articles in _The Notebook_ and I think it is safe to say he possesses a truly brilliant mind.”

“Well of course the man’s got a brilliant mind!” Dr. Hartnell scoffed, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “Transcendental Academy doesn’t employ professors with their heads full of marbles, hm?”

“That’s terrible rude of you to say,” said the elder of the Baker brothers, “When Dr. Smith is standing right there.”

“Quite frankly, if you were to ask my opinion, and I will note that no one has…” said Dr. Baker, his back still to the card table but his voice raised for their benefit. “…it’s high time that the club has an injection of fresh blood, for I am bored to death with all of you. The further removed Dr. Whittaker is from you, the more I shall like him.”

“The further removed he is from us, dear brother,” the other Baker replied, “The more likely he is to like _you._ ” The younger brother scowled and turned back to the fire, which seemed far more interested in what he had to say in any case.

 

Dr. McGann checked his watch again. He wondered if it was broken or if every minute in the company of peers simply _felt_ like an hour.

“He’s late, I think.” said Dr. Davison, moving his pawn. “If Dr. Whittaker doesn’t show up soon, I’ll have to leave without meeting him at all. I left my eldest in charge and I’d like to return to my apartment before they burn it down.”

“Joke about that all you like, Dr. Davison,” said Dr. McCoy, “But I think in terms of combustion, I have more to worry about with my ward than you do with yours.”

“Yes, that is _precisely_ what I’m afraid of.” said Dr. Davison, looking up suddenly. “Tegan said Dorian was visiting tonight.”

“And without an escort?” Dr. McCoy grinned.

“Oh, I’m sure Msr. Ainley will drop by while I’m away.”

“Did he say he would?”

“No, but he usually _does_.”

“Yes, those of us with families really do want to get back to them. And I’m sure Dr. Baker is missing his wife as much as I’m missing mine.” said Dr. Smith.

“I’d challenge you to a game of darts, Dr. Smith, perhaps we can improve your aim.” said Dr. Baker crossly. He didn’t care for Dr. Smith talking about Peri, the only time they had met he had been acting entirely too much like himself.

 

It was at that moment that the handle on the door began to turn, and all twelve men managed to fall silent at once. The door opened, and a figure emerged. They wore a long, dark coat with a hood over their face and a lock of fair hair falling out of it. They stepped into the room, aware but apparently unbothered by the attention they were receiving.

The mysterious figure straightened slightly and removed her hood, revealing herself to be a woman of middle age, with short fair hair worn loosely about her face and striking but not entirely remarkable angles to her cheeks and neck.

Dr. Pertwee and Dr. McGann immediately rose upon noticing a woman had stepped into the room. Dr. Davison also rose, but for a different reason entirely, and Dr. Smith attempted to hide the fact he had also risen but in another manner.

“If I may ask, madam, who are you?” said Dr. Pertwee gallantly.

“Who indeed?” she asked. “My name is Dr. Whittaker.”


End file.
